Embodied
by AntaresTheEighthPleiade
Summary: There's a reason that the Labyrinth fears the Serpent Mage. A very, very good reason.
1. Cogitere

Disclaimer: I don't own DGC. This disclaimer applies to the entire fic.

This little tale is dedicated to DGC fanfic authors past and present.

* * *

><p>"Alfred?" No response. Haplo resumed knocking. "Alfred? Are you all right in there?"<p>

Nothing. The Patryn frowned, pressed his ear to the door of his friend's room. The bedchamber was the only place in the large house that truly belonged to Alfred; the rest was crowded with enthusiastic 'grandchildren,' visiting Pryan dragons, and the home's other two adult residents. For someone who had been alone for decades, the companionship could become quite overwhelming at times. Alfred needed to retreat every once in a while, go someplace where he wouldn't be disturbed.

That, and he needed somewhere to store his immense collection of books. The Sartan had somehow magicked the contents of his people's library on Arianus into the Nexus, and he'd kept dozens of tomes for himself.

"We're getting worried about you," Haplo called. "You've been in there for five days straight. Some of the kids are starting to think that you're dead."

Of course they were worried about him. He'd cloistered himself in that room for five whole days. Earlier, when the house's other residents had been able to hear him clomping around (he was far more graceful than he had once been, but his feet were big enough to make a fair amount of noise whenever he walked), they hadn't been particularly concerned. Now, though, they couldn't hear a thing.

He had _probably_ just fallen asleep after staying awake for who-knows-how-long. _Probably._ But weird things tended to happen around Alfred, and it was better to be safe than to be sorry.

Still no response from inside the room. Haplo, genuinely worried, added, "If you don't answer the door _now,_ I'm coming in there."

Alfred didn't answer the door. Haplo tried to open it- only to discover that it was locked.

That was new. Alfred had lived with him and Marit for two years now, and he'd never before locked his door. Now Haplo was even more worried than before. He began to chant. The Sartan runes barring his entrance were tight and strong, but the Patryn's magic found a single tiny flaw, exploited it. The runes unwound, vanished.

Haplo glanced at his tattoos. They were dark. No danger, then. Still, he kept a hand on his dagger as he trotted into the room.

The chamber was warm and stuffy, and it smelled of old books and something else, something that the Patryn (or Sartan, or mensch) nose couldn't normally detect. It tickled memories of being a dog on Abarrach, following his friend and his love as they fled from Lord Xar. It was a smell the dog had associated with all Patryns and Sartan, especially Alfred.

Magic.

The illumination runes shone bright and blue, illuminating the scene beneath them. Old books were piled precariously, strewn around the room. Scraps of paper littered the floor. And crouched among the mess was a tall, balding man, scribbling frantically on one of the scraps while muttering to himself in Sartan.

Oh, good. Obviously not dead, then.

Alfred didn't notice Haplo's approach, so absorbed was he in his work. It wasn't until the Patryn poked his friend's shoulders that the Sartan took note of his surroundings. He jumped nearly out of his skin, knocking over one of the piles of books.

"Haplo? What are you doing here?"

The Runner cast a critical eye over his friend's appearance. Alfred was a mess. His clothes were rumpled and dirty. He hadn't shaved, so the beginnings of a beard sprouted from his chin. His eyes were bloodshot, underlined by purple bags. His skin had grown pale from days spent away from the sun.

"I'm making sure you're not dead," the Patryn replied.

"Why would I be dead?" The Sartan was honestly confused. "I've only been in here- well- it can't have been more than a few hours."

"Five days," Haplo corrected.

Alfred blinked. One hand wandered upward, felt his chin. "Oh. I'm sorry."

For once, Haplo didn't chastise him for apologizing. "What the devil were you doing here?" He glanced at the obscenely complicated rune-diagram his friend had been toying with.

Alfred trotted over to his desk, shoved aside some rolls of parchment and, for some reason, a spare shoe, and trotted back with an even more obscenely complicated rune-diagram. "I'm looking for mistakes in this," he announced solemnly.

Haplo looked at the paper. It was written in Alfred's handwriting. The runes were tiny but incredibly detailed, and he had no idea what kind of spell they were meant to represent. "What's 'this,' and why is it important enough to make you abandon your family and health?"

As if on cue, the Sartan's stomach grumbled. Both men jumped. The elder's face reddened. "I- can I explain later? I'd like to know if this is actually feasible before I tell you."

"You just spent five days looking for flaws," Haplo pointed out. "Evidently without sleeping or eating. If the spell had flaws, you'd've found them by now."

Alfred glanced away. "Not necessarily," he mumbled. "You see, I made this spell from scratch. The inspiration- it just came over me. Well, not quite like that, because I'd been thinking about this problem for a while now, but when the solution appeared in my head, it-" But at this point he found himself incapable of continuing. A gigantic yawn had forced its way through his throat.

Haplo shook his head, half-exasperated, half-amused. "Why don't you tell me once you've eaten and slept?"

"Good idea," the Sartan mumbled, stifling another yawn. "After I've finished triple-checking it, of course."

The Patryn half-dragged, half-carried his companion down to the kitchen. "You might not have noticed this, Coren, but you're a magical prodigy. You invented the entire branch of shape-shifting in three seconds flat, you killed dead people without realizing what you were doing, and you brought Hugh back with a spell that not even Balthazar the professional necromancer understands. If you made a spell and couldn't find a flaw in it after five days of constant searching, it doesn't have a flaw."

"No triple-checking?"

"No triple-checking. It doesn't need it. Besides, you'd probably lose track of time again and die of starvation."

Alfred's stomach gurgled in agreement.

"Oh," observed Marit as her husband helped their friend into his chair, "he's not dead. What happened?"

"He was working on a spell and lost track of time. For five days straight."

Marit simply nodded. Such an action, while not an everyday occurrence, certainly wasn't out of character for him. She grabbed a loaf of bread from the ceiling and tossed it at Alfred. "Must be some spell, then."

Alfred didn't answer. He was too busy devouring the bread.

* * *

><p>"It looks like gibberish to me." Marit shrugged. "You know I'm not good with Sartan magic."<p>

Haplo nodded. "Same here."

The polite thing to do would be to wait until Alfred woke up. Then they could ask him what was so important about a scrap of gibberish that he'd nearly killed himself trying to correct it. But the Sartan wouldn't be up for another two days or so.

So with that in mind, the two Patryns went to visit the second most-accomplished Sartan mage in the Nexus.

Lenore had been born and raised on Earth. At the age of thirty-one, she'd helped Sunder the old world into seven new realms before moving to Chelestra and submitting to the stasis sleep. She knew her magic, but Alfred's spell left her completely baffled.

"How does he do it?" she demanded. "Haplo, you said that he just popped this out, not in the five days he was missing, but in just a few minutes? And then he spent five days looking for flaws and couldn't find _any?_"

He nodded.

She shook her head in amazement. "What I'd _give_ for that man's talent…. I can identify the individual runes, of course, but I have no idea how they all interact. Like here." She poked one. "The rune for 'redemption.' And here," she moved her thumb, "is the rune for 'fish.' They're both in extremely important positions- the keystones, if you will- but I have no idea what they could have in common."

"Neither do the rest of us," Marit grumbled. The only explanation she could think of involved redeeming fish, and she somehow doubted that was Alfred's goal.

"I could probably interpret it if you gave me a day or two," the Sartan woman continued.

Marit nodded, answering her unasked question. "Alfred won't be up for a long time yet. Just do us a favor and look for flaws, all right? He trusts you. If you tell him that there aren't any, he might actually believe it." Her tone was doubtful.

The trio separated. Marit and Haplo headed home, and Lenore wandered off to the library, doubtless to do more research.

Solemn-faced Patryn children greeted them. "Grandfather Alfred's door is open," one announced. His name was Enno, a small boy of six or seven gates. "We can hear him snoring, so he's not dead. What was he doing in there anyways?"

"He lost track of time," Haplo replied, rolling his eyes.

"I told you it was something stupid," another child muttered, elbowing Enno's side.

"I'm not so sure about that," her foster-father commented. "He was working on a spell."

The children perked up. "What kind of spell?" a ten-year-old demanded. Her eyes were bright with excitement. "Is it something _really cool_ like the dragon?"

The children, as one might guess, were rather impressed with the green and golden dragon.

"He collapsed into an exhausted heap before your mother or I could ask," Haplo admitted. "But yes, I suspect that it's going to be impressive."

"Yes!" the ten-year-old exulted, pumping her fist in the air.

"Maybe it will make Zifnab sane again," Enno suggested.

"Who cares about Zifnab? I think that it'll make the earth swallow Ramu's bunch whole."

"Somehow," Marit said, "I can't see Alfred doing that."

"Oh. Good point. Well, maybe it'll kill all the dragon-snakes." Their foster-daughter seemed quite enamored by the idea. "A horrible plague or something."

The adult Patryns' eyes met. _Think we should tell them it involves a fish?_

…_Let them have their fun. Besides, I don't think they'd believe us._

Marit was forced to admit that her husband had a point.

Speculation as to what, exactly, Alfred had been up to continued throughout the remnant of the day and into the next. When the yawning, bleary-eyed Sartan finally emerged from his room, he was immediately swarmed by a horde of overenthusiastic grandchildren.

"How long will it take to kill the dragon-snakes?"

"What'll it do, Grandfather? Tell us!"

"Can I help?"

Alfred had not been expecting the miniature mob's assault. He shot a pleading look at Haplo, silently begging for rescue.

The Runner rolled his eyes. "Give him some space, kids. Your grandfather needs to breathe just like the rest of us."

Grumbling, the children moved away. They did not, however, stop asking questions about the spell.

"Later, later!" the Sartan cried. "Let me eat and drink first- I'm thirsty."

With several "aws," the children obeyed.

Haplo's new (and genuine, as in not a piece of his soul) dog Spear, though, had no such compunctions. Tongue lolling, dripping saliva onto the floor, he charged through the swarm of children and pounced onto Alfred. The Sartan shrieked. "Nice doggie, nice doggie- _not my nose!_"

"Bad dog," Haplo scolded, dragging it off his friend. Spear huffed. The Patryn chuckled. "Just like old times, right, my friend?"

"Very much like old times," he agreed, wiping away dog spit with his ever-present handkerchief.

By the time Alfred had finished his (rather large) breakfast, he had attracted quite an audience. A young audience, to be sure- most were under the age of fifteen- but still an impressive little horde. Word had spread that the most accomplished and skilled spell-weaver in the Nexus had created _something,_ and quite a few children wanted to know what that something might be.

Perhaps, if he'd been less famous for coming up with ridiculously complex spells in the space of seconds, the youths would have been less enthusiastic. But famous he was, for better or for worse, and the children swarmed to him like moths to a flame.

It made enjoying breakfast rather difficult, actually. He'd never been very comfortable with attention, and this was entirely too much for him.

When he'd finished the last bite of food, he made the mistake of looking into the crowd. By this point, half the audience couldn't care less about what Alfred was up to- they had come simply because their peers were there.

Alfred gulped.

"Well?" asked Haplo dryly. "Are you going to leave all our guests in suspense?"

"Let me get my notes," mumbled the flustered Sartan.

"Here they are." Lenore, one of only four adults in the building, shoved through the crowd (who by now were doubtless very bored) and deposited the sheet of paper in her fellow Sartan's hand.

Alfred stared at her in astonishment. "How did you get this?" he asked.

Lenore jutted a thumb at Haplo and Marit. "They wanted to know what kept you occupied for five days straight. By the way, you were wasting your time looking for flaws. It doesn't have any."

"Oh." Alfred accepted the paper, glanced awkwardly at the crowd. "Er… you're certain? Absolutely positive?"

She nodded. "I even talked with one of the Pryan dragons. She said that you have a frighteningly accurate idea of their species' birth and wants to know where you learned all that about them."

"Cyril told me. But you said you're _absolutely-"_

"If you won't tell them, I will," Lenore threatened. "And I'll make it sound as glorious and miraculous as possible."

Alfred's entire head, right up to the bald scalp and the tips of his ears, turned a brilliant red. "That- that won't be necessary, my dear." He cleared his throat, stood to his full height.

"I- you all know how the Labyrinth is sentient, of course. Most of you have experienced that firsthand, as have I." He glanced at Haplo. The Patryn nodded encouragingly. "And… I've been thinking a lot about what the sentience means, lately, because the Labyrinth's intelligence is probably the main threat to the Rescuers. Possibly even worse than Labyrinth dragons. And I realized that it's possible for intangible things to be embodied- look at the dragons of Pryan and the dragon-snakes. Even Haplo's first dog, for those of you who met it. So I asked myself, 'What if someone applied the same principle to the Labyrinth?' Well, not the exact same principle- the dog couldn't die, and the Pryan dragons and their cousins regenerate- but close enough." He swallowed, sat.

For a few moments, dead silence reigned. Then Haplo walked forward, grabbed the Sartan's chin. Their gazes met. "Are you saying," the Patryn asked in a low voice that no one had trouble hearing, "that you've invented a spell to _kill the Labyrinth?_"

Alfred tried and failed to nod- he'd already forgotten that Haplo was holding his chin hostage. "That's exactly what I'm saying."


	2. Facere

Kill the Labyrinth.

Kill the intelligent, malevolent force that had been born of hatred and thrived off destroying his people's lives. Kill the worst product of the Sundering. Kill the thing that had killed his parents, his friends, the thing that had kept him hostage and might still have his daughter in its clutches.

Alfred was babbling, of course, trying to downplay his achievement. Haplo didn't hear. He couldn't hear anything over the roaring in his ears.

The Patryn didn't even notice as Alfred pried his friend's fingers from his face. He didn't notice as the stunned, silent crowd got over its shock and began to speak. It's impossible, some said, while others asked how such a thing could be done.

Poor Alfred shot Haplo and, after seeing that he wouldn't be any use, Marit his best puppy-dog eyes. They ignored him- Haplo because he was too stunned, and Marit because she had long ago built up resistance to the Sartan's expressions.

Lenore's voice rose across the babbling of the crowd. "Quiet down, people, you're scaring him."

Once they had calmed down, a not-calm-at-all Alfred resumed his explanation. "I… yes, this spell will give the Labyrinth a body that can be killed. Permanently, too, I think."

Lenore, the only other person who understood the spell, nodded. "It will," she confirmed. "It's an impressive piece of magic, even by his usual standards."

The other Sartan reddened again. Even now, he still wasn't used to compliments.

Something clicked in Haplo's mind, an absurd little memory that made him blurt, "You're going to kill it by turning it into a _fish?_"

Alfred glared at him. Something in the Sartan's expression reminded Haplo that this gentle, mild man was also a magnificent, deadly dragon. "It's not a particularly glorious transformation, I know," he snapped, "but a fish out of water was the most helpless creature I could think of. If this spell works and embodies the Labyrinth, I want its form to be incapable of escaping or fighting back. So unless you can think of a more helpless animal than a fish on land, it's staying a fish."

Haplo considered and was forced to admit that no, he couldn't think of a more helpless animal.

"It's a good plan," Marit acknowledged. "Now come on."

"Come?" Alfred blinked. "Where to?"

"Headman Vasu, of course."

* * *

><p>The leader of Abri and the Nexus was silent.<p>

Alfred squirmed. His feet shuffled in and out of their own accord. He kept shooting nervous glances at Haplo, who would comfort him with a smile and a tiny nod. Earlier, he'd tried doing the same to Marit, but had stopped after she loosed an exaggerated sigh.

"Kill the Labyrinth," Vasu repeated quietly. He leaned forward, eyes boring into Alfred's face. "Can you do it? Can you perform this spell by yourself?"

"I can," he replied. "And then someone can- can kill it. Or I could, if no one else is around. I really don't care who does that, so long as it gets done."

The headman chuckled softly. "Sometimes, Alfred, I forget that you are the Serpent Mage. Thank you for reminding me."

The Sartan blushed. "You're welcome?"

The hybrid folded his hands together. Voice intense, he said, "Let's talk details. What, exactly, will this spell do?"

They talked late into the night about possibilities and power, planning how to maximize safety and efficiency. They calculated how long casting the spell would take, how soon the Labyrinth would realize what was being done to it. Balthazar and two Pryan dragons were called in to join the discussion.

By morning, they had a plan. The only thing they had yet to decide was when.

Except everyone (save Alfred) had apparently already decided.

"Our kindred are on their way," the first Pryan announced. "They can find the twenty or so volunteers you need."

"Good," said Balthazar. "Let's go, then."

"Now?" Alfred pulled up short, startled.

"Now," Haplo confirmed. "Why wait? Every moment we delay, another Patryn dies."

Blue eyes went wide. Alfred half-jogged, half-sprinted out of the room.

The two dragons of Pryan transformed once they were out on the streets. The first lowered its head, offering a place to Alfred. The Sartan sighed- he hated riding dragon back, despite (or perhaps because of) his habit of actually becoming a dragon- but climbed on.

"I don't like this," he muttered, clutching the dragon's spines for pure life. "I don't like it at all, and I'll never understand how you two manage it with me."

"We're used to it, I suppose," Marit shrugged. "Unless you catch us off guard with your transformation, of course."

Alfred flinched, remembering the incident to which she was referring. "I _said_ I was sorry."

Haplo cleared his throat. Alfred jumped, almost losing his grip on the dragon. With a yelp, he lunged forward, grabbed at its scales and spikes.

"No apologies, remember?" the Patryn chided. "It wasn't your fault that the volcano erupted."

"Actually," his friend protested, "it was. It was another of the Labyrinth's attempts on my life, remember?"

"Which makes it the Labyrinth's fault," Haplo reminded him. "Not yours. Say it with me, now: 'It wasn't my fault that the volcano erupted.'"

"It wasn't my fault that the volcano erupted," Alfred repeated obediently. "Sometimes, Haplo, you make me feel like a replacement for your old dog."

"Only sometimes?" Marit chuckled. She patted Alfred on the back.

"Don't do that!" the Sartan yelped, pressing his body against the dragon's scales. "You'll knock me off!"

Fortunately for its passengers, the dragon was a fast flyer, and the Final Gate wasn't too far away. It floated down from the sky, descending at a gentle angle so as not to alarm Alfred, and came to a stop right before the gate itself.

Half a dozen other dragons had already arrived. Their passengers, mostly Patryns with a couple Sartan thrown in for good measure, had already disembarked. They watched in silence as Haplo, Marit, and Alfred climbed down from their mount.

"Are there any more coming?" Vasu asked his dragon.

The beast shook its head. "Everyone is here. We sent the word out when it became obvious that you were merely rehashing what had already been discussed."

The headman nodded, turned to his people. "Do you know the plan?" he asked.

As one, the assorted Patryns and Sartan nodded. They knew the plan.

It took only a few minutes for them to get into position. Pryans formed a protective circle, their glittering green-blue bodies a living shield. The humanoids formed groups of two, each partner ready to defend the other's back. And in the middle of this small army stood Alfred, looking small and rather nervous.

"Ready?" Vasu called. Nods and yeses from all around. "Good."

They marched.

* * *

><p>The Labyrinth knew that something was wrong immediately. It had become accustomed to Rescuers traipsing in and out of its domain, but Rescuers entered in groups of three: two humanoids and a dragon of Pryan (or the Serpent Mage, who shared many of the dratted beasts' abilities). It was not, however, prepared for a small army, complete with a dozen dragons and that thrice-cursed Sartan, to trot through the Final Gate and set up camp on the plain.<p>

Had the bodiless being had a forehead, it would have furrowed its brow in confusion. What in the worlds were they up to?

Well, it decided, whatever they were doing, it couldn't possibly be good.

It weighed its options, considered the best path to take. There were a few chaodyn nearby, a pack of wolfen, and even one of its own dragons. And of course, it could summon others if things got serious. But how many creatures would it take to-

Ah. It had begun. The Patryns, Sartan, and dragons had gotten into position. Fangs were bared, weapons unsheathed. Only the Serpent Mage, safe and sound in the center of his living shield, remained unarmed.

But his lack of a sword didn't fool the Labyrinth. It knew that the Serpent Mage was _never_ harmless.

As if to prove the Labyrinth right, the Sartan opened his mouth and began to sing.

* * *

><p><em>You can do this. You can do this, Alf- <em>Coren. _You're the most powerful mage in recorded history. _

As always, that particular thought made him flinch involuntarily.

_You know the spell. You spent five days looking over it, searching for flaws. You know it inside and out, just as you know the dragon spell. Now wait until they're in position and- oh. They're in position. Time to sing, then._

He sucked in a deep breath. For a moment he was tempted to exhale and repeat the process, but the memory of Haplo's voice stopped him. _Every moment we delay, another Patryn dies._

No more death. His cowardice served no one, not even himself. Especially not himself.

He sang.

As always, magic transformed him inside and out. His gangly, clumsy body straightened out, becoming graceful and almost beautiful. Fear and uncertainty and self-consciousness melted away, leaving nothing but the simple joy of doing what he had been born to do.

_I am complete,_ Coren thought. And sang louder, more passionately, more powerfully.

Eyelids fluttered shut- not in fear of what he might see, but in bliss. Calm, serene confidence washed over him, washing away his deep-rooted fear of power- and responsibility.

Magic bubbled through his blood. No, it didn't just mingle with his blood- it _replaced _his blood entirely.

The world shifted. Possibilities shimmered, golden threads just within his reach. He plucked them, crafting them like a master smith or carver. This rune here, that one there….

He was vaguely aware that he should probably open his eyes, just to be safe, but the thought that he could make a mistake when the magic was so clear, so easy, so _willing_ to be sung into existence was laughable. Coren knew in his bones that the spell was perfect, flawless, inescapable.

It wasn't like this for the others, he knew. For them, magic was something to be learned and mastered. For him, it came so easily and naturally, just like the art of breathing.

Brilliant runes, blue and red and gold (he knew their colors, knew everything about them, without opening his eyes), flowed and twisted, forming the shape of a creature he'd seen on Chelestra. It was a fish, a major component of the dolphins' diet- and rather popular with the mensch, too. It was also utterly helpless on land.

He and Orla had been walking the dog along the shoreline when they noticed that the canine was lingering longer than normal, sniffing at something in the sand. They had gone over to it.

The dog had been snuffling at a gasping fish. It had been trapped in a tidal pool as the water went down. Now the poor thing could hardly breathe. It was suffering, dying- so Alfred, without a second thought, had dipped his hand into Chelestra's magic-nullifying seawater, wrapped it around the ichthyoid, and tossed it back into the ocean.

Orla had berated him for surrendering his magic so carelessly. You should have let the dog do it, she had told him. It's an intelligent enough animal to put the fish back without eating or hurting it.

But the dog had grinned at him, and he had imagined that there was approval in its face.

He remembered the creature's slick wetness, the roughness of its scales. He pictured its shape: flaring gills, tiny front fins, much longer and stronger tail. Its mouth had been filled with tiny teeth, thin as the wispy hairs on his own head. Every last detail was clear as crystal.

Strange, how his mind worked. He could remember that insignificant little fish so easily, yet he had once immediately forgotten his most wondrous works of magic.

The first spell ended. Coren slid to a stop, eyed the artificial body critically.

It had the shape of the fish he'd rescued on Chelestra, but that was where the similarities ended. That fish, like most fish (and indeed most other animals), had been made of flesh and blood. This lifeless body was constructed of magic, nothing more, nothing less.

Sartan runes, tiny and intricate, had roped together in the shape of an animal. The runes floated in the air, attached to nothing but each other. Any onlooker could look through the body, see the ground beneath it.

The fish's mouth was a yawning hole. It was supposed to be- he needed some way of entrapping the Labyrinth, and if the rune-net were complete before the maze's soul was imprisoned, he would never be able to capture it.

Coren gave his creation a quick once-over. He smiled, nodded approvingly. There were no flaws in the soulless husk, no way for the Labyrinth to escape.

And speaking of the Labyrinth… it had sent warriors, a half-dozen chaodyn. They were all dead, now, quickly dispatched by the Pryan dragons. The shape-shifters had a tried and true method of dealing with chaodyn: they would grab the insect-like beast in their claws and hold it still while a Sartan or Patryn drove his blade into its heart. The monster would die instantly, before a drop of its blood could escape and form a new foe.

Did it know? Coren wondered. He considered the thought a brief moment before deciding that it did. Its terror lay thick upon the air, strong enough to taste.

He wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead before going back to work. The Labyrinth was currently preoccupied with trying to prevent its own doom, but any moment now, it might decide to kill as many Patryns as possible before perishing. He didn't think it would- like the dragon-snakes, the Labyrinth was a coward- but if anyone died because he got cocky and delayed….

The magic came more easily that time, surging through his veins even as he opened his mouth. Confidence filled him, and with that confidence came an intense concentration. The world narrowed. The dragons of Pryan ceased to exist. His humanoid guards faded into nothingness. Even the ground on which he danced became nothing more than a blur of black mist.

Only three things remained: him, the magic, and the Labyrinth.

He cast out his mind, connecting with the foul prison in the same way he'd once connected with Kleitus the lazar. Foulness coated his tongue, but he ignored it, kept singing.

This was the moment of danger. He would have to battle the Labyrinth, mind to malevolent mind, and force it into its new body. The drakes had been certain that he could do it- they were always telling him he was stronger than he knew; he had to have been, to have survived Arianus without killing himself. Haplo and Marit and Vasu and even Balthazar had agreed (though the ex-necromancer's agreement was rather grudging).

Only Alfred had doubted.

Even now, when the worst layers of his soul had been temporarily sloughed off, Coren wasn't entirely certain that he could force the Labyrinth's ancient mind into a shell of flesh. Magic he could handle, because magic was his blood and birthright. The Labyrinth was something else entirely.

He hadn't been able to handle Kleitus….

_Let me go,_ the Labyrinth wheedled. _Without my presence, the beasts will have no qualms about hunting the Patryns into extinction. I moderate them._

_To breed,_ the Sartan snapped back. _You save enough to create the next generation of tortured playthings. _

The maze seemed to shrug. _Of course,_ it purred. _This is what I was created for- by your people, Coren. _

He faltered. Hearing- well, not exactly hearing; more like feeling, sensing- the Labyrinth speak his true name…. It felt wrong, like nails dragging across stone.

_Of course I know your name, Coren of the Nexus. You confessed it to your little Patryn friend within my domain, did you not? _

Sweat beaded on his forehead. If it knew his true name, it had power over him. He didn't like the thought of the Labyrinth having power over him. _But,_ he said, half to remind himself,_ I know yours as well._

Redemption, Samah had called it. Redemption for their enemies. A horrible misnomer, but still its name.

_We could bargain, _it suggested, ignoring the Sartan's comeback. _You will find me to be surprisingly reasonable. Why, I might even decide to release some prisoners… a little girl named Rue, perhaps? _

For an awful moment, he was so, so tempted. He could make it release them all- but no. He couldn't trust the Labyrinth. No one knew how many Patryns it held; it would likely just send out a small percent, keeping the rest for itself. Or it would send all the Patryns, but they would be dead. Or it would sprinkle boggleboes among the Patryns, who would cross through the Final Gate and cause chaos in the Nexus.

_No._

Magic filled him, more power than he'd ever held before. Impossible power, really. It reminded him of the Seventh Gate, but a thousand times more personal, which made it a thousand times more intense. It reminded him of his dragon form- powerful and deadly and beautiful.

He had done this before….

_Claws the color of a sunbeam plunged into a writhing dark mass. The Royal One squirmed, muscles twisting like dying worms, but he couldn't stop the green and golden dragon from dropping him to his death on the seamoon below. _

The Royal One had begged, too, and he had said no. No, no, NO!

_So be it, then,_ the Labyrinth hissed.

Pain consumed the world.

* * *

><p>Oh noes! Pain consuming the world is bad! *panics*<p> 


	3. Temptare

He was in the Labyrinth dragon's lair, screaming in agony as it dragged its claws across his flesh. It laughed at him, gloating, repaying the wound in its wing a thousand times over. _Abri is dead, your Patryn friends buried amidst the rubble. Soon the Final Gate will close, and…._ Dark laughter. _…and then you'll have lots and lots of new friends to keep you company. _

Alfred had whimpered at that, hung his head, hidden his face. By that point, he was already too dehydrated to weep. Nonetheless, a choked sob had escaped his throat.

_If you scream prettily enough, man-wyrm, I might even let you choose which games to play- where to tear, where to burn. Now, let's play…._

When Marit and Hugh had rescued him, he had been almost mad, almost dead from pain and terror. They'd had to heal him before dragging him from the dragon's cave, wasting precious moments, allowing the beast to return. Only the unexpected intervention of the Accursed Blade had let them walk out alive.

Now he was back in the dragon's cave, but Hugh the Hand was dead, and the Accursed Blade had been destroyed.

Alfred was vaguely aware that he was only remembering something from years ago, that Marit had healed him and he'd gone on to fight and defeat many more Labyrinth dragons. But that knowledge was buried under wave and wave of pain.

"_What's happening to him?" _

"_I don't know!" _

"_It seems like- like- didn't you say that his mind had to touch the Labyrinth's for this to be successful?" _

_A curse. _

"_We have bigger problems! Dragon!" _

Dragon? The word penetrated Alfred's pain-filled consciousness. He saw the creature in his mind, a nightmare of red scales coating obscenely bulging muscles; of eyes that could and did move independently; of a hot, searing tail, pumping venom into his flesh, leaving him limp and helpless as a rag doll-

The Labyrinth latched onto that image.

The outside world, the voices of his friends, faded away. Memory disintegrated.

He was trapped, and Abri had fallen, and Lord Xar had taken Haplo and the dog to Abarrach, and the most feared monster of the Labyrinth was ambling towards him. And it was smiling.

* * *

><p>Haplo swore. "Wake up, Sartan! You're stronger than this!"<p>

His friend's only response was another soul-tearing scream.

The Patryn cursed again. He dropped, half-sitting on Alfred in an attempt to keep him still. It wasn't quite as successful as it might have been- skinny or not, Alfred was a tall man, so there was quite a bit of him to keep down- but it would keep him from thrashing about too badly in the next few minutes, which was all he needed.

Right hand grabbed left. Left hand grasped right. Haplo pinned the Sartan's arms to the ground, began a healing chant. Magic blazed on his arms, blue and red, shining both with danger and the force of his spell.

But there was nothing physically wrong with Alfred. Whatever pain he was experiencing was all in his mind. Haplo wondered which memory the Labyrinth was forcing him to relive- it wasn't like Alfred had a dearth of bad experiences.

"But you got through them," Haplo snarled. "You survived."

The Sartan yowled.

His Patryn friend swore again. Battle raged around him, two drakes of Pryan tangling with a red dragon, but he paid it no heed. "You can do this. Coren, friend, you can do this. So _do it already!"_

* * *

><p>Dying in the dragon's lair. Red laughter, drips of blood. He knew the pain, knew what would happen-<p>

-knew what would happen. He knew what would happen. Not just because the beast was telling him, but because….

"_You survived._"

Haplo's voice. But that was impossible. The Patryn was on Abarrach, a prisoner of his lord. Or… was he?

Alfred imagined that Haplo was cursing. What he was swearing at, the Sartan didn't know- him, perhaps, or something he'd done. But the Rescuer (Rescuer? They don't exist now, weren't formed until after we saved him… after Marit and Sir Hugh saved _me…._) was right. He had survived this before.

But only because he had been rescued. He was alone now, trapped within his own mind. No one could save him now.

"_You can do this._" Haplo again. His voice was low, urgent. But despite its quietness, it was enough to drown out the rasping of his captor's bloody scales, the clacking of its claws on the floor of the cave. _"Coren, friend, you can do this._"

Could he really? The Labyrinth dragon- no, the Labyrinth itself, clad in the flesh of a red dragon, just as he often donned green scales and golden wings- had paralyzed him with a swipe of its tail. It had bound him in iron manacles that dug into his wide wrists. He was trapped within his memory, trapped within….

_My mind. This is _my_ mind. And that makes it my choice._ The thought ignited a tiny smile inside of him, more of a spark, really.

But it was enough.

"_So _do it already!" Haplo roared. Always impatient, Alfred thought fondly- and with good reason. I _do_ vex him rather horribly sometimes. A tiny smile worked its way across his lips.

The Labyrinth-turned-dragon paused. "Why so happy, man-wyrm?" it demanded.

The manacles slid open. Alfred landed on the ground, shaking his wrists to restore the feeling to them. His flesh was whole, undamaged after the beast's torture.

"You are not the only dragon here."

* * *

><p>Alfred stopped screaming. His flailing ceased.<p>

Haplo's eyes narrowed. He didn't trust this sudden stillness, this unnatural quiet. Just seconds ago, his Sartan friend had been trapped in a nightmarish hallucination, unable to escape. He was still unconscious; that hadn't changed. So what had?

The Labyrinth dragon attacking them had been defeated. Its body slammed into the ground, crushing a trio of attacking wolfen. Singing and chanting took care of the rest of the pack.

A drake in dwarf form, blue-green eyes the only indication of its heritage, pressed its hand against Alfred's chest. It seemed to listen to something, straining to hear.

"How is he?" That from Marit, clutching her spear like a lifeline, scanning the wolfen for any survivors who might cause problems. Her body was tense, strained.

The drake-turned-dwarf smiled. Tension eased out of Haplo's shoulders. He _knew_ that the Sartan could do it- though he would have appreciated him doing so in a less terrifying manner.

The shape-shifter's voice was soft, gentle, content. "All will be well."

* * *

><p>Green and gold and shining like the sun, the dragon slammed into his opponent, knocking him against the wall. Sharp white fangs snapped at the Labyrinth's crest, drawing blood. The monster screamed in pain and fury, twisted away.<p>

Coren couldn't help but feel a major sense of déjà vu. Wasn't this how he'd been freed the first time, two colossal dragons trying to kill each other? The only difference was that this time, _he_ was the one doing the rescuing.

It was a rather nice change, really.

For the first time, he began to think that maybe, just maybe, he could defeat the Labyrinth itself. Him! Bumbling, clumsy, afraid of his own power, meek and mild as milk. But also powerful, capable. And he was within the confines of his own mind- his territory.

Something shone in the Labyrinth's stolen eyes: understanding laced with fear. It had caused enough death to recognize it.

But it had not survived so long only to let some half-competent Sartan kill it off. Snarling, it lunged for the green and golden dragon.

Claws tore. Jaws snapped. Tails lashed, cutting across the other's flanks.

Even as their bodies fought, both combatants summoned their immense powers. Coren's blood was replaced once more by shining magic. It washed away his fear, his pain, the nightmare memories of the true Labyrinth dragon.

Possibilities clashed. The Labyrinth had been born of Sartan magic, was still constructed of the same. It had been reaching into the myriads of possibilities for centuries, twisting them to cause as much torment as it could.

It had thought that, by battling on two planes, magical and physical, it could defeat its enemy. After all, how could a mere mortal, no matter how powerful or skilled, match something that _was_ magic?

And yet the Serpent Mage was matching him blow for blow, spell for spell.

It must be because they were in his mind, the Labyrinth decided. He had the advantage here. Perhaps it could win, but only if….

Even that brief thought was enough to weaken it. The Sartan-turned-dragon clamped his jaws around the Labyrinth's squat, spine-covered neck. His fangs dug in. Skin and scales broke. Blood squirted, coating his tongue, trickling down his throat. Coren suppressed the urge to gag- he always hated swallowing blood. That was why he preferred using his claws, even the spines on his back, instead of his mouth.

But he kept his fangs around the red dragon's neck. Disgusting taste or not, he had it in his clutches. There was no way he was letting it go just because its blood was absolutely repulsive.

Of course, that didn't mean he wouldn't use his other physical weapons. His back claws braced against the floor of the cave. His front claws dug into the other dragon's flesh, aiming for the heart.

Surprisingly, the Labyrinth didn't struggle. Unease pricked the back of Coren's mind- he didn't trust the monster's sudden placidity.

Not that that stopped him from snapping its neck.

* * *

><p>Haplo understood that magic took time. As a rule of thumb, the more powerful the magic, the more time it took. This was powerful magic, so it was obligated to take quite some time.<p>

But this, he thought, staring nervously at his closest friend's prone body, was taking far, far too long.

Marit shared his opinion. "Why isn't he awake yet?" she demanded of the drake-turned-dwarf.

The shape-shifter frowned. A hint of concern flickered in its blue-green eyes as it pressed its hand against Alfred's chest.

The concern deepened, grew more pronounced. "The Labyrinth is clever."

Dread pooled in Haplo's stomach.

"At first, it attempted to trap Coren within the confines of his own mind. You saw that, of course." The Patryns nodded. "However, it underestimated the strength of his soul- and the strength of the bond you share with him, Haplo. Coren was able to free himself, fight the Labyrinth. Since the battle took place within his mind, he had the advantage. Now, though, the Labyrinth has dragged them both into its mind, where it has the advantage."

Marit swore.

"Indeed," the drake murmured. "The Serpent Mage is holding his own for now- he always was stronger than he gave himself credit for- but…." It shrugged helplessly. "That could change at any moment, especially now that Coren now longer has the advantage."

Marit swore again. Haplo nodded.

"Yes," the drake sighed, "I quite agree."

By now, the battle was over. Others crowded around Alfred's unconscious body, worried. "What's going on?" Balthazar demanded. The former necromancer gave the body a quick once-over, noted that he wasn't dead.

"They're fighting," Marit explained. "Alfred and the Labyrinth. He's trying to drag it into the fish, and it's trying to stay out of the fish."

"…He's losing, isn't he." It was not a question.

Marit clenched and unclenched her hands. "We don't know," she growled. "It seems like he was winning a minute ago-" She glanced askance at the drake, who nodded "-but now the Labyrinth has taken away one of his key advantages."

Balthazar's dark eyes narrowed. "So he might be winning, but you don't know."

Nods all around.

"The good news is," the drake announced, trying to lighten the dire situation, "the Labyrinth can't send any more monsters against us. It is far too preoccupied with trying to defeat Master Montbank."

"How long will that take it?" Balthazar muttered.

The drake's strained smile transformed into a bearing of teeth.

Vasu intervened. "If things go badly, can you wake Alfred up?"

"I- or someone else- would have to call his true name."

The headman shot a stern glance at the other humanoids. They wandered away, out of earshot. "Coming, Balthazar?"

"Not yet," the ex-necromancer replied. "If you were forced to awaken him, what would happen to the Labyrinth's spirit?"

"It would escape, of course."

Balthazar nodded. His face was even grimmer than usual. "And next time Alfred enters this place, the Labyrinth would send an army of dragons to kill him. It wouldn't hold back- the Final Gate would become a sinkhole, or tiger-men would post sentinels. No one could escape."

Vasu's face tightened. "You're right, of course," he agreed quietly. Turning to the drake, he asked, "Is there anything we can do to help him? A spell, a song, something?"

The dragon-turned-dwarf heaved a sigh, and that was answer enough.

* * *

><p>Yes, the "You are not the only dragon here" line was... uncharastically BA. But Alfred's in a rather bad mood, and that means he says things he normally wouldn't say. Also, sarcastic!Balthazar is sarcastic, and Labyrinth dragons are creepy.<p>

-Antares


	4. Superare

Alfred blinked.

One moment he had been in the cave, struggling against the Labyrinth. Now he stood before the Final Gate in his Sartan form, completely alone.

"What?" he wondered. He turned, searching for anyone who could explain what was going on.

That was when the ground opened up beneath his feet. Innocent-looking grass grew to enormous heights, wrapped around his shoulders. He staggered, yelping a rapid rune-chant.

The Sartan soared into the air, hovered just out of the grass's reach. He tensed, awaiting the Labyrinth's inevitable next move.

Sure enough, a gust of wind lashed out at him, whipping dirt into his skin and eyes. Alfred hummed a single note, remained in place. The wind didn't move him.

"Hello?" he called once the gust had passed. "Where is- what in all the worlds?"

He had caught a glimpse of the… _thing_ (for in Alfred's mind, there was no other way to describe the wretched abomination) he was wearing. And he didn't like it, not one bit.

It was a coat- a _green _coat, the same color as his dragon form's scales, with two _golden _cuffs. Alfred had the horrible feeling that the rest of his clothing had transformed to match.

The sheer shock of finding himself dressed in something he'd never be caught _dead_ wearing was enough to distract him. That, of course, was exactly what the Labyrinth had intended.

The whirlwind twisted, reversed direction. It slammed into the startled Sartan, pushing him towards the deadly forest. The plants grabbed at him, thorns wrapping around his arms and legs, grass tying his head to the ground, a tree's roots ensnaring his torso. He gasped, choked.

The demonic plants pulled, dragging him into the ground itself.

Was this the end? Would he really die today?

Patryns who had been in near-death situations (meaning each and every member of the race) spoke of their life flashing before their eyes. Now Alfred experienced the same thing.

He saw the crystal tombs, rows and rows of dead companions who would never sing or dance again. He saw Haplo's first dog, the one the Patryn had never named but which Alfred had privately thought of as Sausage, silently begging for a belly rub. He saw his grandchildren playing, something they'd never truly done in the Labyrinth, and enjoying every minute of it. He saw Haplo and Marit sitting side by side, their hands touching, smiling at him in amused exasperation.

And then he saw them in truth.

The strangling plants vanished. The world tilted crazily. Suddenly he was lying on his back, surrounded by Haplo and Marit and a couple drakes, free.

Of course, it took him a few seconds to realize that. Alfred continued struggling for several moments after his release, squirming and straining against restraints that were no longer there. Then the Patryns grabbed him by the hand, hauled him to his feet.

"You all right, Coren?" Haplo asked.

The Sartan stared at him in astonishment. "I'm not dead," he observed. Then, happily, "I'm not dead!"

"He looks fine to me," the relieved Marit observed.

Alfred glanced at his coat, was relieved to see that it wasn't dragon-green. His smile widened. Then his gaze wandered, fixated on the empty body he'd constructed for the Labyrinth. The smile faded. His thin shoulders squared as he drew himself up to his full height, taller than anyone around him. He backed away from the others, mild eyes determined. "This time, please don't wake me up."

* * *

><p>The illusion world snapped, shattered. The Labyrinth was plunged back into reality. It staggered, disoriented by the sudden change.<p>

How, it wondered, had the Serpent Mage escaped its trap? He had been about to die, buried under thousands of pounds of dirt, crushed to death by its sheer weight. One second, it had been dragging him underground to his death. The next, it was back in the physical world.

For a moment, it panicked. What if the Serpent Mage had copied its trick, faking his own death to lure his opponent away? But no- this was no mindscape, but the real world. Something had broken the spell, dragging them both back into the real world.

It cursed silently, enraged. A pox on the dragons of Pryan, and a thousand poxes on those who helped them! And _ten thousand_ poxes on-

Another mind, scarred with solitude and throbbing with magic, latched onto its consciousness.

And the battle began anew.

* * *

><p>Fighting the Labyrinth hurt. Not physically, for theirs was not a physical battle, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually.<p>

And oh, how hard it was. The prison maze was strong, cunning, determined, ancient. He was… well, he had the strong part down pat. In his own way, he too was ancient, though he'd spent much of his life in the stasis sleep. It was the cunning and determined parts he had trouble with.

Of course, the determination bit had gotten a rather large boost by his brief reprieve in the real world. He wasn't going to be taken off-guard again.

_You, _he silently informed the struggling Labyrinth, _are going to die today. _

_I think that you are confusing us,_ it hissed back. _And once you are dead, Coren, know that your friends will be quick to join you. _

_I am not afraid of death. Neither are they._

An image entered his mind: row upon row of crystal tombs, each containing a precious comrade. Friends, neighbors, his brother and sister, his beautiful Lia….

_No, _Coren repeated, smiling at the Labyrinth's fool attempt to discourage him, _I am not afraid of death._

Another image, or rather a series of images: the shambling undead of Abarrach, phantasms trailing uselessly behind them. Jera alive and well, then Jera the lazar tearing into Kleitus. The phantasm flitted in and out of her body, transforming its face from that of a living woman to that of a long-dead, rotted corpse. Hugh the Hand shaking him until his teeth rattled.

Awful images, each and every one of them. Yet they affected Coren in the last way the Labyrinth had expected. He grew stronger, more confident, fear sloughing away like a serpent's skin. If the Labyrinth had resorted to these memories, these empty threats, then it had nothing better to threaten him with.

_My people have given up necromancy, as you well know. The nightmares of Abarrach hold no fear for me. _

Coren's mind wrapped around that of the Labyrinth, scrambling for a hold. It flinched away instinctively, just as he'd anticipated.

He latched on, forcing himself to ignore the filth of its mind, the snarls and screams and memories of pain. The Labyrinth screamed horrible threats- all the Patryns shall die for this, die in screaming agony; I will take you with me, binding us together until the end of time, and do you really think that your friends will kill me if my death will bring yours?

But Coren persevered, wrapping tighter around the Labyrinth's mind.

The effort affected him physically and mentally. He was tired, yearned for sleep. His mind felt strained, wrung out like a sponge. Sweat condensed all over his body.

But magic was coursing _as_ his blood, and he was _so close_ to binding the Labyrinth for good, and if he succeeded then no one would ever have to suffer like Haplo had, like Marit had, like his poor beloved grandchildren….

Pity, mercy, compassion. Even more than magic, these three things had always been his source of strength.

For a single, heart-stopping moment, Coren and the Labyrinth were balanced on the edge of a cliff. One step, and they would fall into the unknown. One step- letting go, seizing hold- and the Labyrinth would be bound forever.

But it was fighting, a desperate frenzy of red claw and white fang and blood-tinted magic. It was afraid, and even a mouse would fight when cornered.

_Redemption,_ Coren sang, imbuing the misnomer with all his strength. And took the step.

* * *

><p>Haplo was a man of action. He despised sitting by idly, doing nothing. He especially despised sitting around twiddling his thumbs while others were in danger. Especially if that other was Alfred, his dearest friend, whose main talents involved getting into trouble and making powerful enemies who had no compunctions about murdering him.<p>

The Patryn was tempted- strongly tempted- to grab his Sartan friend by the arm, call his true name, and drag him out of his trance. "Come on, Alfred," he muttered, fists clenched.

"Have faith," the drake murmured. "You know that he is stronger than he appears."

"_He_ doesn't."

The dragon flinched. "True."

At that moment, several things happened at once. Alfred opened his eyes and mouth, jabbering something that was cut off in the horrendous wailing of his piscine creation. The Labyrinth fish (for wont of a better word) was screaming in fury, thrashing around, trying to knock its enemies to the ground.

Alfred jumped almost out of his skin. He blinked once at the fish, which was flopping clumsily toward him with murder in its eyes, and yelped a word that he would normally never use. "Don't kill it yet! It's not wholly bound!"

Haplo could see that. The piscine's body was filled with a dark fog, straining against the blazing blue runes. In most places, the rune-light shone triumphant. At the mouth, however, a thin stream of darkness had managed to escape.

Alfred danced towards the creature, his hands forming new runes. The tiny trail of fog snapped back into the fish body. Runes formed over the mouth, sealing it for good.

But the Labyrinth was nothing if not spiteful. It lunged forward. Its jaws clamped down on the Sartan's hand. Yelping in startled pain, the mage fell, dragged down by the creature's weight.

The Patryns took that as permission to kill it.

The Labyrinth didn't stand a chance. Every Patryn within a hundred-foot radius was armed to the teeth. They plunged their weapons into the monster's hide. It screamed in pain and fury, releasing Alfred (who scurried away, superbly thankful that this particular species of fish didn't have very strong jaws, or else he'd have lost a hand).

But nothing can survive being impaled again and again by almost two dozen weapons. The Labyrinth's cries weakened, faded, stopped.

The darkness within its new body seemed to curdle. It contracted, growing smaller and denser but somehow fainter. For an infinite moment a speck of foul magic lurked within the fish's heart. Then it was gone.

The rune-structure unwound, its task accomplished. Alfred, clutching his wounded hand to his chest, imagined that he could hear the magic singing, feel it running insubstantial fingers over his shoulders. It seemed to him that the magic was thanking him, glad to have been used so extensively and well.

And perhaps, he thought with a tiny shiver, it was. After all, if the Labyrinth was sentient….

No, he corrected himself, it had been sentient. _Had been,_ past tense. _Had been,_ as in not any longer. _Had been, _as in it was dead.

Alfred stretched to his full height, looked over the crowd of Patryns and Sartan to watch the body unwinding. A goofy grin plastered itself across his face. His injured hand dangled by his side, completely forgotten.

"It _worked,_" he told Marit, the first to come and check on him. Beaming almost as brightly as his dragon-self, he grabbed her in a hug, dancing around in a tiny circle. "It worked!"

"Should I be jealous?" Haplo asked dryly, extracting himself from the crowd that had gathered around the disintegrating Labyrinth fish. "Because that's my wife you're holding, Sartan."

Alfred turned redder than a Labyrinth dragon's scales. Marit just laughed, joy making her giddy and silly, and planted a very small kiss on her friend's cheek. Alfred turned even redder, which should not have been physically possible but somehow was. "Yes, Haplo, you should be jealous," she teased him.

Haplo laughed. Marit wasn't the only one feeling silly with joy, with relief, with hope. "Somehow, though, I don't feel threatened."

The two Patryns looked over Alfred: crimson-faced almost to the bald spot on his head, skinny as a stick, with enormous hands and even larger feet, and completely enamored with his friends' love. He'd name himself High King of the Dragon-snakes before meddling with Haplo and Marit's relationship.

"I can't imagine why," the Patryn woman joked. She hugged Alfred again.

Haplo, grinning, joined in. "Nice work, Coren," he murmured.

"Thank you," the embarrassed Sartan mumbled back. His blush faded somewhat, though it was still present.

"Well done indeed," laughed another drake. This one wore its dragon form, a huge mass of glittering green-blue scales. Even as the three friends looked up at it, it seemed to grow larger, sleeker, stronger, taking strength from their happiness.

Haplo and Marit pulled away. The Patryn woman glanced at her hand, wondering what the sticky substance on it was. Oh, blood. Alfred's blood, to be specific. She glanced at his still-unhealed hand, which was only just beginning to clot.

The Rescuer rolled her eyes fondly. "Only you could get yourself mauled by a fish," she muttered, voice filled with affection. "Do you want healing?"

No answer. He obviously hadn't heard her. "Alfred," she said, louder this time. The Sartan turned to her. "Do you want healing?" Normally she wouldn't waste magic on a wound so trivial, but Alfred had just _destroyed the Labyrinth._ She figured that he deserved a bit of slack.

"No thank you, my dear. It looks worse than it really is."

At this point, the other Patryns and Sartan recovered from the stunning realization that yes, the Labyrinth was indeed dead. A great cheer went up from them, laughter and triumph combined.

"You should run," the drake stage-whispered to Alfred, eyes twinkling merrily, "else they'll carry you on their shoulders back to the city."

"Excellent idea," said Vasu, who by then had come over to check on them. "The carrying part, I mean, not the running bit."

"You wouldn't want to do that," Alfred babbled. "I'm too big."

Vasu nodded indulgently, placed a hand on the Sartan's shoulder.

Alfred's smile faded. "Headman, I think you should redouble the Rescuers' efforts. The Labyrinth and I… not quite spoke, but certainly conversed, when I was trying to bind it. It told me that it restrained its creatures from slaughtering your people indiscriminately. I don't know if it was telling the truth, but-"

"It was not," the drake interrupted. "Many of the monsters here prefer easier prey than Patryns- the griffins, the bats and birds, chaodyn and even snogs. Not dragons, I'm afraid, nor creatures that are part human, but the creatures I named might just cease their attacks entirely."

The Sartan sagged with relief. "Oh, thank all the ancestors…."

A wave of exhaustion rolled over him. Suddenly he could barely keep his eyes open, much less focus on the conversations around him. He was vaguely aware of people congratulating him, fierce proud Patryns with tears in their eyes, but the world had gone so fuzzy and strange….

Haplo caught him, kept him from falling. "Someone give me a hand," he called. "He's exhausted." Then, to the Sartan, in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, "Go to sleep, my friend."

"'m no' fain'in," Alfred slurred. Telling his friends that his unfortunate old habit hadn't resurrected itself seemed very important to him.

"I know you're not fainting," Haplo said. As always, he understood the older man perfectly. "But you're still sleep-deprived from your five-day all-nighter and you just got through an absurdly powerful spell, _and_ the Labyrinth almost killed you before you bound it. Go to sleep, get your strength back- you've earned it."

The Sartan shook his head. He flexed his wounded hand, grimaced at the pain. But provoking the injury had the effect he'd desired: he was more awake now, able to form a sentence without tripping over his own words. "I'll sleep once we get back."

His friend nodded, accepting that. "You realize that we'll be riding dragon-back, right?"

Alfred groaned, wishing that he'd listened to the younger man and gone to sleep.

Somehow, he made it through the journey home. Somehow, he made it to his room, onto his soft warm bed. But on his way to bed, he had to pass through the rest of the house. Through his grandchildren, who had been waiting anxiously for their family to return.

"How'd it go?" demanded Enno, trailing alongside him.

Alfred smiled, ruffled the little Patryn's hair. "Your parents will have to tell you the specifics, because I'm ready to collapse, but the short of it is that the Labyrinth is dead."

* * *

><p>Huzzah! Rejoice and be merry, for the Labyrinth is dead! Hip hip hooray!<p>

Superare: Latin for "to overcome." Alternate chapter titles were "Occidere," "to kill," and "Vicere," "to conquer."

Next chapter will be the end. I'm kind of surprised that it even lasted this long- it was originally a one-shot, then a two-shot. Now it's apparently a five-shot. Okay, then. Works for me.

-Antares


	5. Somniare

Alfred knew he was dreaming, because had he been awake and in control of his own actions, he wouldn't be back in that atrocious green-and-gold ensemble the Labyrinth had put him in. But the scene before him was so beautiful, so wonderful, that he barely noticed the horrible outfit.

The Labyrinth was healing.

Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the mountain cliffs which had frustrated so many leveled down to hills. Poisonous plants grew old and withered. They died, and flowers sprung up in their place. Many species of monsters- snogs, chaodyn, griffins- retreated to their caves, while the populations of other types- Labyrinth dragons, wolfen, tiger-men- dwindled. The Patryns had grown stronger as snogs and their ilk retreated. They'd gotten more time to rest, recover, train, and they used that time to strengthen themselves.

Throughout this transformation, which lasted years (though to Alfred, it seemed like all this happened in mere hours), the Labyrinth never once invoked its magic. Beasts stayed where they were, unable to teleport to richer hunting grounds. The weather became less extreme- fewer thunderstorms and blizzards, more gentle showers and blue-skied days.

And as the prison maze faded into just another world (albeit a world filled with monsters), something wonderful happened. The River of Anger, born of the Patryns' hate, dried up.

Alfred watched as the last pathetic trickle of water soaked into the ground, leaving nothing but a desiccated riverbed.

And then he woke up.

* * *

><p>His grandchildren already knew the gist of the tale, of course. The entire Nexus knew! But as usual, they didn't know the whole story, only the bits and pieces that the witnesses had seen. Since a great deal of the action had taken place within Alfred's own mind, he was really the only person who could fill in the gaps.<p>

Balthazar and Vasu were alerted the moment he awakened. Instead of sending for Alfred, they went to his home. They had met his grandchildren, knew that the kids wouldn't let the Sartan out of their sight until they'd heard the entire story. With that in mind, they asked Alfred to deliver his report in the living room, surrounded by his friends and family.

As usual, his report was delivered unpretentiously but nonetheless rich in details. Or rather, it was rich in details that emphasized Alfred's incompetence. Occurrences which needlessly (at least in his opinion) lionized him had to be pried out of him.

But Haplo, at least, was used to getting the full story out of his friend. He knew how to recognize when the Sartan was employing his talent for neither lying nor telling the truth, and he was not willing to put up with such tendencies. "Alfred," he said (and the other name, the one he would not say around people who did not know it, was plain for all to hear), "you just _destroyed the Labyrinth_ by turning it into a _fish._ There's no way you can paint that as a modest achievement."

Unfortunately, Haplo was also quite adept at learning embarrassing details (such as a certain appalling article of clothing). It was one of the reasons he'd been chosen as Xar's emissary, and the skill had only increased with time.

Needless to say, the grandchildren had quite a laugh at Alfred's mortified description of what exactly the Labyrinth had dressed him in.

Red-faced, he half-seriously threatened to stop telling the story. The children knew better than to take him at his word- they had him wrapped around their collective finger- but they obediently fell silent. Three or four of them exchanged glances, plotting mischievously to create a coat like that.

Alfred, blissfully unaware of his conspiring kin, continued his tale. A few minutes later, he was finished.

Then, of course, he _had_ to show the half-healed fish bite to the grandchildren, who _ooh_ed and _ah_ed and were generally quite impressed. Had it come from anything else but the Labyrinth personified, they would have ignored it. But because it _was_ from the Labyrinth….

From that point onward, the children wouldn't just boast about their parents' feats and prowess. Whenever they talked about their families, they would be sure to add that they had the coolest grandfather in the seven worlds.

Finally, when they had all gawked at Alfred's new wound for longer than the Sartan was comfortable with, the children began to disperse. Soon only the adults- Marit, Haplo, Balthazar, Vasu, and Alfred himself- remained.

"What now?" the Sartan asked.

Haplo didn't even have to think about his answer. "We do what we've always done, of course. The Labyrinth might not be alive anymore, but that doesn't mean I'm leaving any of my people there."

"True safety exists only in the Nexus," Vasu agreed. He smiled warmly. "Though of course, what you did yesterday has greatly improved the lives of my people."

Alfred went red. "It wasn't me, you know. Not entirely. I almost died twice. If Haplo hadn't saved me in the dragon's lair or if the drake hadn't called my name…." He shuddered.

Haplo rolled his eyes.

"But really, what now?"

"What Haplo said," Marit repeated, "keep doing what we've always done. Keep going into the Labyrinth and rescuing everyone we find. Then, once we're in the Nexus…." She smiled. "We tell them that it was a Sartan who imprisoned the prison maze itself."

Alfred thought of the dream he'd had, of the River of Anger drying up. He nodded, a tiny smile on his face.

Marit, Balthazar, and Vasu seemed rather surprised that Alfred wasn't protesting. They knew why the Patryn woman's plan was practical, but they hadn't expected the modest Sartan to see the benefits right away.

Only Haplo was unsurprised by his friend's automatic understanding. Alfred was no fool; he knew that news of a Sartan redeeming his race by actually destroying the Labyrinth would go a long way towards healing the hate between their peoples.

"We should probably keep this from Ramu, though," Balthazar noted. "Heaven only knows what he'd do."

Alfred shuddered, nodded.

"But those of my people who refuse to accept the Sartan must be informed," Vasu commented. "Fortunately, our claims should be easy to prove- I could sense the exact moment of the Labyrinth's death." He shook his head in amazement. "Every man, woman, and child within the Labyrinth could sense it."

"I… suppose they could."

Vasu smiled. "Balthazar and I must go tell the rest of the Nexus that you're all right. They've been worried for you, you know."

A huge smile broke out on Alfred's face. "Yes, Headman. I know."

* * *

><p>Somniare: to dream.<p>

The ending is... well... blegh. But it was either this or a conversation that went on _forever,_ and as brevity's the source of wit, I went with the shorter option.

Since there is, like, no life on this fandom, I am now taking non-slash, non-M-rated requests. Please give me inspiration. *Alfred-esque puppy eyes*

-Antares


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